It had not been enough to simply take him from his family; no, they had to drag him across what felt like half of Thedas, as well. The templars back in the Anderfels had been bad enough, heavy-handed and essentially kidnappers, but he had at least been able to understand what they said. These new ones, the Fereldan ones, speak in a language he does not fully comprehend, and push him around in impatience when he does not react to their instructions quickly enough.
He is not going to cry, because he is too old for that, but it is still unfair. They do not understand him, either, but he is not pushing anyone, is he?
Just kicking and shoving his elbows into them, really. They do not feel it, of course, but that is not the point. He is not going to let himself be kidnapped peacefully; it is the fighting back itself that matters, not how successful it is.
Which it is not, at all. They laugh at him and call him Anders, as if he does not have a name of his own. Or Mage, since he is one, now, and Robe, which does not make any sense; he is not wearing robes, and never has.
He would not tell them his name if they asked for it, anyway.
When they reach a big lake, he tries to make a run for it and is quickly caught, only a few steps away. It still counts. He stares sullenly at the water as the boat takes them across. If they had not tied back his arms, he would dive in and swim away.
They drag him into a tower, terrifying in its size and isolation, and then through desolate hallways that gives his insults a nice echo. No one understands him well enough to scold him for them, so he might as well give it his all.
Eventually, they pass a teenager with a familiar greyish hue to his light brown hair, his prominent nose and jawline marking him as another Anders. He looks as if he is trying not to smile; a clear encouragement to yell something especially colourful. At least someone in here appreciates his efforts.
When people finally cares to know his actual name, it is serious older men in a barren office. He does not feel like answering any of them, and let them call him Anders all they want.
That is who he is, now, and the person he used to be no longer matters; they have made that very clear.
He is not going to let them take the one last thing that is truly his own to decide over.